Friends in Low Places
by catharticone
Summary: What possible harm could come from eating the delicious fruit?  The Doctor had cautioned her against all the others, but this one was perfectly safe...wasn't it?  TenRose
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. I intend no infringement with this story._

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Succulent, sweet juice ran down her chin, but Rose didn't care. The fruit in her mouth was so utterly delectable that a bit of a mess seemed irrelevant. She was sure she'd never tasted anything so delicious. The flavour was different from anything she'd experienced before, and if this was the only thing she could eat on this planet for days and days and days, that would be just fine with her.

In actuality, she thought, wiping the juice from her mouth and licking her fingers, it probably would be the bulk of her diet while she and the Doctor remained on Pelorius. He'd cautioned her that some of the food here was unsafe for her, instructing her to eat only the green fruit with the blue and yellow stripes on it. The other fruits had looked quite tasty, too, but she knew his cautions were serious; he'd said the words without even a hint of a smile. There was no joking tone, no overly enunciated syllables, just a succinct warning. And she'd heeded it.

Rose leaned back in her chair and surveyed the scene before her. The Doctor stood some distance away, talking animatedly with the village elder or chief or mayor, or whatever he was called. His son had known the Doctor in his previous incarnation, and she supposed the Time Lord was pretending to be a descendent of some sort. He'd brought the TARDIS to this peaceful planet to absorb the natural magnetism, which he said was relatively unique and would help the ship to recoup her strength fully after the events on the parallel Earth. Rose suspected, too, that he thought she'd enjoy the tranquility and natural beauty of the place. She'd been a bit morose since Mickey had left…

Rose had to admit that Pelorius was lovely. It was somewhat tropical, with lush vegetation gracing the land. The inhabitants enjoyed a simple yet very pleasant lifestyle. While they hadn't yet developed the technology for electricity, they'd harnessed the natural resources quite successfully. They'd created an effective plumbing system, for example, that utilized the many streams to bring fresh water into the cottages through pipes. She'd been pleased to discover that homes were equipped with sinks, bathtubs, and even toilets that flushed naturally with the flow of water beneath.

And the food… well, maybe there wasn't much she could eat, but honestly she'd be glad to dine on this fruit for ages. The residents were vegetarians, and they ate all sorts of fruits and vegetables with a few grains thrown in for good measure. She'd nibbled a little bread, which apparently was safe because it was cooked. But the fruit was just divine. So if she needed to subsist primarily on that for the four days that the TARDIS was grounded, then so be it.

The Time Ship was parked about four kilometers away. The Doctor had landed her in the optimal spot to absorb the magnetic pulses then had escorted Rose to the village. The residents' hospitality was immediate and profuse, with rooms prepared for the guests within an hour of their arrival.

The TARDIS was powered down, so the translator was working very sporadically. The Doctor was able to converse with the residents, apparently familiar with their language, but Rose only picked up bits and pieces that the occasional translation blips permitted. But she didn't really care. She was well-fed, comfortably full, and stretched out in a cushy chair with the warm sun on her face. Life was good.

She settled her hands on her belly. She was sated and felt she couldn't eat another bite. In fact, her stomach was starting to burble a bit, and there was a little hint of pressure building. She must've overdone it on the fruit. She glanced back at the table and was slightly mortified to note that she'd consumed the entire, large melon.

Her stomach suddenly seemed to notice that fact, too. She struggled to her feet, looking around for the nearest bathroom. They were in a courtyard, between several homes and the small guest cottage where they were staying. Rose hurried past the Doctor and the chief, heading for the cottage.

The Doctor gave her a questioning glance, and she mumbled something about "the loo" as she strode by him. Her stomach was churning, and the pressure was intensifying, and she felt as though she would burst any moment.

She was sweating by the time she trundled through the bathroom doorway. She'd undone her jeans the moment she entered the cottage, and, with a hasty shove of the door to close it, she sank down on the toilet, regretting every single of bite of fruit that she'd eaten.

And it proved to be a hell of a lot of regret. Every time Rose thought that she was done, that her body had finished expelling the horrid stuff, she felt another cramp, another burn, and she found herself automatically hunching over, groaning at the pain and fumbling for the soft, thin leaves that passed for toilet tissue. She was thankful, at least, for the decent plumbing.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the Doctor knocked hesitantly at the door.

"Rose? You in there?" he asked rather tentatively.

"Yeah," she replied.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," she lied.

"The children made up a song for you. They want to sing it."

Rose took a deep breath. "'Kay. Be right out."

She heard him walk away and willed her body to cooperate as she stood up. Her legs felt shaky, and when she stepped to the sink to wash her hands, she glanced into the mirror in her compact and saw that her skin was pasty and her hair was damp. Damn, she hadn't been this ill in a long time. Well, the fruit must be out of her system by now, so she'd feel better soon.

Rose splashed a little water on her face and ran a comb through her hair then opened the door.

The Doctor was standing in the doorway to the cottage, looking out at the courtyard. He turned his head half-way as she left the bathroom. He held out his hand. "Come and see. You'll love this!"

Rose shuffled across the room and took his hand. He glanced down at her for a moment, probably noticing the clamminess of her skin, but then the children began to sing, and he fixed his gaze upon the little group. A dozen small boys and girls sang and danced, lifting flowers above their heads and moving their arms in fluid, graceful sways. Rose couldn't understand their words, but the melody was lovely, and their faces showed the joy that the performance brought them.

She wanted to watch them, enjoy them, grin and laugh and clap her hands at them. But she felt that urgency building again, and she waited as long as she could, but finally she pulled her hand from the Doctor's and ran back into the bathroom.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

When Rose emerged from the bathroom perhaps ten minutes later, the children were gone and the Time Lord was nowhere in sight. Well, that was probably for the best, because all Rose had the energy to do was to sink down onto the bed and curl up in an uncomfortable, exhausted, very sore ball.

"Bit rude, Rose."

She opened her eyes. The Doctor was standing in the doorway again, frowning slightly at her.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Didn't mean t'be."

"They thought you didn't like it," he continued. "I had to tell them that you weren't feeling well, and you know how I dislike lying unless it's to avoid being eaten or dismembered or incinerated by a monster or megalomaniac—" He took a few steps toward her, squinting a little in the waning daylight. "Blimey, Rose, you look terrible!"

"Thanks," she muttered.

"What's the matter?" He reached the bed in three strides and bent over her.

"Must've been somethin' I ate."

He rested his palm against her cheek. "No, that's not poss—" He pulled his hand away and stood up straight. "Oh no, Rose, no, no, no, you didn't."

"Didn't what?" she asked weakly.

"You didn't eat the green fruits with the yellow and blue stripes?"

"'Course I did. Those were the only ones you said were safe for me."

He shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no! I said those were the only ones that weren't safe for you!" He rubbed his hands over his forehead and up into his hair, still shaking his head. "Damn."

"What?" she asked. "They made me a little sick, but it'll pass. Think I'm feelin' better now anyway."

He gestured sharply with his hand, indicating that he wanted her to scoot over, so she did. He sat down next to her, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and switching it on. He held it over her abdomen, and his frown deepened.

Rose felt her heart begin to thud in her chest. "What is it?" she asked with growing apprehension. She hadn't seen his forehead this creased since they'd faced the Cybermen.

"You've had cramping?"

"Yeah."

"Diarrhoea?"

She nodded.

"Lots of both?"

Another miserable nod was her reply.

He responded by rolling her onto her back. Then he slipped his hand under her shirt and beneath the waistband of her jeans to feel about her belly for a few moments. She tried not to wince; his actions were making her feel even sorer, particularly when he pressed gently on the right side, a little below her navel.

He moved his hand up and let it rest over her stomach for a second or two then pulled it away. The lines etched into his brow had not diminished.

"Doctor, what is it?" she asked again. She reached for his hand. "Tell me."

"It's the ooverasti," he said with a significant tone that implied she'd understand exactly what he meant. Of course, she had no idea.

"What's an ooverasti?"

"You don't know?" His eyes widened for an instant, then he continued, "No, don't suppose you would, or you'd never have eaten that tgilti fruit. It's a favourite hang-out for the ooverasti—nice and soft inside, juicy too, and they burrow in when they're just larvae then grow to maturity, but of course you can't really see them because they blend right in with the colour and texture of the fruit. Well, if you know what you're looking for you'd probably spot one, but they're pretty well camouflaged—"

Rose felt a bit queasy now. "You mean I ate some sorta insect?"

"'Fraid so." His voice was terribly sympathetic.

"An' that's what made me sick?"

"Yes."

Well, it wasn't exactly a nice thought, but Rose knew that sometimes people did ingest various critters and the results were less than pleasant, but there were drugs that would kill the things…

"What sort of medicine do I need?" she asked.

"Medicine?" He repeated the word as though it were completely foreign to him.

"Yeah. Medicine. You know, pills or somethin' that kill the parasite or whatever it is. My cousin got somethin' like that when he went to Africa in the Peace Corps, an' he was pretty sick 'til they figured out what it was, but then he just took some pills an' it went away."

The Doctor seemed to grimace. "Pills don't work on ooverasti. They're incredibly resistant to nearly all toxins mild enough to be administered to a human. Only substances that'll kill them are things that'd kill you too, and we certainly can't have that. Your mum'd kill _me_." He gave her a tight little half-smile.

Rose's gut was beginning to churn again; she sensed that another trip to the bathroom was imminent. Still, she took the time to ask, "So what d' we do about it?"

"Well," the Time Lord replied rather thoughtfully, "we have three choices."

Rose heaved herself up from the bed. "Hold that thought," she called as she stumbled toward the bathroom. She really wanted to know his answer, but at the moment she had a more pressing concern. She slammed the door shut and sank down with a groan.


	3. Chapter 3

At least the Doctor had better sense than to try to ask how she was while she was huddled in the loo. Rose was pretty certain he knew, anyway; it would be hard to ignore the noises her body insisted on making. Sense or no, she didn't suppose he'd have the tact to wait outside the cottage until she was finished.

When she finally dragged herself out of the bathroom, he was sitting in the chair by the window. He stood as soon as he saw her and hurried forward to take her arm. She appreciated the support, but she'd grown more miffed by the minute as she'd sat huddled on what passed for a commode. After all, he was the one who'd clearly told her to eat only the green fruits with the yellow and blue stripes… so this was really his fault. She was certain it was; she couldn't have misheard or misunderstood him, could she?

He helped her to the bed and eased her down, watching her with mild concern. He brushed a few strands of damp hair away from her cheek.

"You were just about to tell me what to do," she reminded him, pressing a hand to her aching belly.

He nodded. "Right. Three choices."

She waited, but he didn't continue. Instead, his gaze wandered out the open window. It had grown dark, and he'd lit the lantern next to the bed. Outside, she could see soft lights glimmering in the darkness. Pretty as they were, she had the distinct feeling that he was stalling for time.

"So?" she prompted. "What are they?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, the three choices." He sat down again, pulling the chair around to face the bed, then held up his hand. He lifted his index finger. "Option one is to let this run its course. Ooverasti have a relatively short lifespan—ten to twelve days at the most."

"So it'll just die, an' what? Pass out naturally?"

He nodded. "Fourteen days maximum. Maybe sixteen, but no more."

She scowled faintly and waited for him to add another day or two, but he didn't. "So that's what I'll do."

He waggled his finger at her. "Little problem with that option, Rose."

"What's that then?"

"Ooverastis eat whatever you put into your body and secrete the waste when they're done. Their digestive chemicals are very acidic and irritating to the delicate tissue of the human digestive tract. That's why your system's upset just now."

Rose wrinkled her nose at the distasteful idea of some critter excreting its disgusting waste into her body. "So whenever I eat, I'll get sick," she concluded.

He nodded. "And if you don't eat—if you had intravenous nourishment, for example—the ooverasti would have no choice but to begin devouring your tissue, and that'd be much worse, believe me."

"All right, so I eat as little as possible an' just plan on bein' sick for a couple of weeks. Sounds like a good weight-loss plan to me." She smiled.

But the Doctor shook his head firmly. "Bad idea. You've been sick for what, hour and a half, two hours? How're you feeling?"

She was about to say something semi-positive and not dwell on the negative, but he cocked an eyebrow at her in a silent prompt for her to be honest. So she replied, "Like crap."

He leaned forward and took her hand in his. He rubbed at the skin above her thumb. "You're already a little dehydrated," he told her. "Imagine what would happen if this went on for days."

"So I drink plenty of water—"

He shook his head again. "You can't. Ooverasti'd simply consume it, expel it, and then you'd be sick again. And after a couple of days of that, severe dehydration'd set in, and that can cause all sorts of unpleasant things, like kidney problems, arrhythmia, and even heart failure, and I'm sure you don't want that."

"No," Rose agreed slowly. "So what's option number two?"

The Doctor nodded. "Right, number two." He winced at the unintentional pun, and Rose knew he was worried because in any other circumstance he would have chuckled at the childish joke. Again he seemed to hesitate before giving her the information.

"Yeah," she prompted, "the second option."

"Well," he said, stretching out the word into two syllables, "your ooverasti friend seems to have taken up residence in your descending colon—that's right here." He rested his fingertips very gently over the area between her hipbone and pelvis, and she recalled that the spot had felt particularly tender as he'd moved his hand over it earlier. "If you have to have an uninvited houseguest in your intestines, that's not a bad place for it, really, because it's fairly easily accessible, either going in surgically, or inserting a scope and—"

Rose didn't wait for him to finish. "It could just be taken out?" she asked.

"Could be. But the TARDIS isn't going anywhere for at least four days, and it'd need to be done soon before the little bugger really makes a home for itself."

"What d'you mean?"

He waved a hand at her. "Best not to think about it too much. Anyway, since the TARDIS can't move—and she literally can't, much as I'd like her to at this point—we'd have to do it here on Pelorius. If we could travel, I could take you to New New Earth III, and at any one of the hospitals there they'd be able to extract the ooverasti in a matter of minutes. But since we're grounded, I'd have to do it myself." His tone had lightened as he spoke, and Rose thought she saw a tiny gleam of excitement in his eye. "TARDIS infirmary has all the equipment I'd need, of course."

"You know how to do stuff like that?" she questioned with a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Of course I do." He sounded a little affronted.

"But I'd have to let you either cut me open or put a scope up my—"

"Yep."

His tone was too full of anticipation for her taste. Since he couldn't do anything for the TARDIS, and he was smack-dab in the middle of an utterly peaceful society who required absolutely no help from him whatsoever, the Time Lord clearly needed something to tinker with. Rose had a very squeamish feeling that her body was providing just the right sort of challenge for him.

"So what's option number three?" she asked.

"Didn't like number two, did you? Well, I suppose I can see why. You humans are awfully protective about your bodies. 'Course I can't say I really like having mine probed and scanned and sliced into, either."

"Yeah. Number three?" she reminded him.

Now he was frowning again. "Don't think you're gonna like this one much, either, but it's probably the best option when it comes down to it."

"And it would be?"

His gaze wandered to the window again. "Ooverasti don't affect Pelorians as severely as they affect you; their digestive systems are a little different in form and function. Still, no one really likes having an ooverasti in them, so they've found a homeopathic remedy."

Rose slapped the Doctor's arm lightly. "Why didn't you tell me about this first? Homeopathic—that's all natural, right, an' not dangerous—"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Natural, yes, but homeopathic remedies can be very harmful if they aren't used correctly."

"Right. So you're sayin' this one's dangerous or safe?"

"Oh, it's usually quite safe."

"So? What's the problem?"

"I don't think you'll like it very much."

"Yeah, you already said that. What's the matter with it? Do I have to stick somethin' someplace icky?"

"No. You just have to swallow it."

Rose grinned in relief. "No problem. Even if it tastes bad, it sounds like a way better option than spending the next two weeks in the loo or havin' you extract the thing."

"Oh, you won't really taste it, unless you decide to chew it for some reason, but that wouldn't be very smart, since that'd kill it."

"Kill it?" Rose honed in on those two words.

The Doctor's fingers tapped at his knee. "Mmm. That's the part I thought you might not like."

She swallowed. "An' exactly what is 'it'?"

"In nature, there are complex food webs comprised of myriad food chains. For every living creature, there's another creature who feeds off it. The grass grows, the bunny eats the grass, then the hawk eats the bunny. I could give you thousands of examples from across the galaxies; it's universal."

"All right, but what's this got to do with the cure?"

"Well," there was that two-syllable enunciation again, "the ooverasti have one natural enemy, one creature that finds it utterly delectable. And if that one creature were to find its way into your digestive tract, it would naturally seek out the ooverasti and devour it."

"But let me guess, it'd excrete somethin' even worse than the ooverasti's acid?"

"Oh no, not at all. Actually, it would gobble up that nasty little ooverasti then make its way out of your body quite naturally, and if it were lucky it'd end up back in the streams that flow beneath the village—back in its home, nice and happy as you please."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Rose said. "I don't see what you think the problem is."

"No? You don't? Well, I suppose you haven't seen the bwoquerra yet, have you?"

"Bwoquerra?"

"That's its name. Ask me again and I'll tell you the same."

Rose rolled her eyes. She was cramping up again, which seemed impossible since she was certain that there couldn't be anything at all left in her system. But there it was, that horrible tightening and burbling and pressure, and she pushed herself up on her elbows with a muttered curse.

"Again?" the Doctor asked sympathetically.

She nodded and blinked, surprised to find tears in her eyes. Damn, she really was uncomfortable, and she didn't think she could stand much more of this. He wrapped his arm around her back and helped her to the bathroom. Not long after she'd sunk down on the loo she heard the cottage's door close, but Rose was too preoccupied by her discomfort to wonder where the Doctor had gone.


	4. Chapter 4

She was very, very sore in one very, very sensitive place, and Rose was anything but happy when she finally left the bathroom. She swore she could feel the acid secreted by the damned bug burning through her body. It was way worse than the time she'd accidentally eaten that super hot chili pepper at the Thai restaurant; it'd burned just as much coming out as it had going in.

The Doctor was nowhere in sight. She shuffled to the bed with slow, painful steps, then eased her tired, achy body down. She really didn't care how nasty the remedy tasted; she was ready for it. It certainly beat the alternatives.

She closed her eyes and must have drifted off, because suddenly she was aware of the Doctor bending over her, pressing his cool palm against her cheek.

"You asleep?" he asked.

"Dunno. Was I?"

"Looked like it. This is taking a lot out of you."

She nodded weakly.

"Well," he said, tone lightening, "I've brought you the remedy."

"Really?" She pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing at the pain in her belly. "Give it here."

"You sure?"

"'Course I'm sure! C'mon, lemme me have it!" She held out her hand expectantly.

He knelt down and reached for something he'd set on the floor. When he stood, he held a jar in his hand. In the dim light, she could see that it was full of a murky substance.

"That it?" she asked. "How much do I hafta drink?"

"Oh," he replied a bit too casually, "you don't have to drink any of this."

He gave the jar a swirl, and she saw something dark move through the liquid. He turned toward the lantern, allowing the light to shine into the container as he removed the lid.

"There you are," he said, peering inside. "Hello!"

Rose pushed herself up further so that she could view the jar's small interior, too. Wriggling on the surface of the cloudy water was a blackish, shiny, worm-like thing twice the size of her thumb.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That," the Doctor said, "is a bwoquerra, the cure for all your ills."

Suddenly Rose understood what the cure entailed. "Oh no," she shook her head. "I thought it'd be tiny. I can't—" She was immediately queasy. "You're tellin' me I hafta swallow that thing?"

"'Fraid so," he responded sympathetically.

She pressed a hand over her mouth. "No way."

"It really is the best option," he reassured her. "Noninvasive, relatively quick and more or less painless. Well, at least no more painful than what the ooverasti's doing to you—"

"Noninvasive?" she repeated, aghast. "You call lettin' that thing go down my throat an' into my stomach, an' then goin' on through my body, 'noninvasive'?"

"Well, compared with option number two, it is," he reminded her.

She tried to sit up, but she was so terribly sore. She groaned involuntarily, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. She heard a soft noise as the Doctor set the jar on the night table. He piled the pillows beneath her back to support her then sat down at her side. He grasped her wrist gently with one hand and rested the other against her cheek.

"Rose, you need to do this, and you really can't wait."

She shook her head in a futile attempt at denial.

"No, you can't. Pulse is up, temperature's down slightly, skin's dry… You don't want to put your body through any more of this."

Her eyes moved from his anxious face to the jar. "I don't think I can do it. An' even if I could, even if I could swallow that thing, I'd just throw it up."

"No, you won't. You swallow it and I'll help you keep it down."

She blinked at him; her eyes felt hot and wet. "How're you gonna do that?"

He smiled cryptically. "I have my ways." Then he grew serious again. "Really Rose, if you can't do this, I'll have to take you back to the TARDIS and extract the ooverasti myself."

"Tell me again how you'd do it," she asked softly.

He sighed, all traces of his earlier excitement gone. "I'd try a scope first, since that'd be easier on your body than surgery. I'd insert it into your—"

"I get it," she interjected.

"And then," he continued, undeterred, "I'd guide it up through your descending colon until I found the ooverasti. If it isn't too entrenched already, I'd be able to remove it using one of the attachments on the scope. Haven't done that in years, actually, but it _should_ work…" His gaze wandered off into some distance that she couldn't see. "But if it doesn't—if the ooverasti has attached itself too securely—then I'd need to go in through the abdominal wall. Make an initial incision then cut through oblique muscles and into the colon. Bit messy, that." He seemed to grimace. "But if that's the only way, then I suppose it'll have to do. When's the last time I did surgery?" he mused. "Been awhile. I think it was on Frontios."

"An' did he live?" she asked rather hesitantly.

"Frontios is a planet, Rose. But yes, I think nearly everyone lived. I can't quite remember."

The dubiousness in his tone did little to reassure her. The severe cramp that assaulted her gut, however, helped her to make up her mind. She grunted in pain, unable to speak for a moment.

The Doctor let her squeeze his hand, hard, and stroked her hair, saying, "Deep, slow breaths, in, that's it, now out."

When the worst of the discomfort passed, she looked up at him with teary eyes and gave him a wan smile. "Can I at least have it on a cracker?" she asked, glancing at the jar.

He returned the smile. "Nope. This is so good you'll want to enjoy it all by itself."

He reached for the container with one hand and fished in a pocket with the other, producing a pair of chopsticks. He tapped at the surface of the water with the tip of one chopstick. "Come on up," he said into the jar. "There's a tasty ooverasti waiting for you."

Rose felt her stomach churn, but she swallowed hard, determined to accomplish this revolting feat with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Ready?" he asked her, and the look in his eyes told her that he believed in her.

She nodded and parted her lips, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Remember," he told her, "you absolutely mustn't chew. Just swallow."

"Yeah," she replied miserably. She kept her eyes closed.

She felt the Doctor's fingers on her chin, very close to her lips. He tilted her head back

She heard a little swish and felt a drop of water fall onto her hand.

"Now open," he instructed.

Rose forced her mouth to open, balling her hands into fists. She kept her eyes shut, knowing that seeing the thing would only make the experience worse. She could feel the Doctor's warm breath on her face; he was very close to her. Suddenly his fingers moved up into her mouth, opening it wider, and then something touched the back of her throat, something cold and slimy and wiggly…

"Swallow," the Doctor said firmly.

Involuntarily, she bit down, but his fingers prevented her teeth from coming together. With every bit of her willpower, she forced herself to swallow, and she felt the bwoquerra sliding down her throat.

Her stomach was already beginning to convulse, and she started to gag. Her eyes flew open as the Doctor slid his fingers from her mouth.

"All right?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Gonna—be sick," she gasped.

"No," he said, "you're not."

Then his fingers were pressing against her temples and forehead, and he was looking very deeply into her eyes. Rose felt as though she were swathed in swirling, icy fog that left her confused, unthinking, and completely numb. She was aware of nothing but the Doctor's eyes.

"There we are," he finally said, easing the pressure and lowering her head to the pillows.

She was bewildered; something had just happened, but she couldn't remember what it was. "Doctor?" she asked, her voice only a whisper because her throat felt funny, sort of tight and sore. "What'd you do?"

He had taken the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and was holding it over her abdomen. He looked up with a satisfied nod. "Progressing nicely."

Abruptly the memories and sensations returned, and Rose's stomach immediately reacted. She coughed and retched, leaning over the side of the bed. Aside from a bit of bile that burned her throat, nothing came up; her stomach was completely empty.

"Where's the bwoquerra?" she asked as the Doctor helped her to lie down again.

"Making its way into your ileum."

"How'd it move so fast?"

He smiled gently, perhaps a bit wistfully, and replied, "You swallowed it twenty minutes ago."

"No, it was just a minute—wasn't it?"

He shook his head. "I told you if you could swallow it I'd help you to keep it down. That's what I did."

"How?"

"Oh, just a bit of mind-body mumbo-jumbo."

Her curious expression prompted him to clarify.

"The mind can exert a tremendous amount of control over the body, but most humans don't really know how to tap into it. I just gave your mind a little nudge, helped it to lock down the system, as it were, so that the esophageal and stomach muscles wouldn't contract. That allowed the bwoquerra to pass into your duodenum, where it can't be expelled through vomiting."

Rose rested a hand against her belly. "So it's in there now, slidin' around."

He nodded. "Probably take it another couple of hours to reach the ooverasti—small intestine's hundreds of feet long. I don't why you lot call it the small intestine, should really be called the very, very lengthy intestine, though I suppose its diameter does warrant the label—"

She sighed tiredly.

"How're you feeling?" he asked. He lay his palm against her cheek. "Any pain?"

"Just really sore mostly. An' thirsty. Can I have some water?"

"No. Ooverasti'd only consume it then release more acid into you, and you'd be sick all over again."

Rose began to roll onto her side, hoping that a different position would ease the ache in her belly. "Is it okay if I move?" she asked, pausing for a moment.

"I think so, though I wouldn't recommend going for a jog or practicing gymnastics for the next little while."

"Ha ha," she said mirthlessly, trying not to groan as she shifted her body around.

She felt the Doctor's hands against her back and hip, helping her to adjust her position. When she was marginally more comfortable, he settled behind her and rubbed gently at her back. Her shirt had ridden up, and his palm brushed over her bare skin.

"You're cold," he said softly, and he pulled the blanket up to cover her.

She was inexpressibly tired, so she didn't even bother to thank him. Instead, Rose closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep, images of black, wriggling, worm-like things swimming woozily through her mind.

_To be concluded in the final chapter._


	5. Chapter 5

_Here is the final chapter. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed._

* * *

Pain jolted through her abdomen, and Rose opened her eyes with a groan. "Oh God," she murmured, pulling her legs up in an effort to ease the burning.

"Rose?"

The room grew brighter, and she realized dully that the Doctor must have adjusted the lantern while she slept. Now he was bending over her, brushing hair away from her face then resting his fingers against her neck.

"Hurts," she whispered.

"I know," he replied. "It won't last long. Bit of a battle going on at the moment; the ooverasti's probably not too happy about being eaten alive. Must be a tenacious little bugger."

He held the sonic screwdriver low over her abdomen, the tip almost touching her, then said, "Yep, I'm picking up two sets of life signs right here. It looks like our friends have met each other."

Rose was certain she could feel the two creatures thrashing about, gnawing and biting at her, tearing her apart from the inside. She began to sweat, growing colder by the moment. The pain was sharp, gouging at her, and there must be blood, lots of it…

"You have to cut them out," she moaned, grasping the Doctor's wrist firmly.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked with some confusion.

"They're ripping me apart!" she cried.

"Oh dear," he said, moving his hand down to rest softly against her belly. "You think they're actually fighting? Well, I suppose it would feel rather like that if you believed those two were tussling about in there."

"They are," she said.

"No, Rose, they're not. It's really quite a peaceful process. The bwoquerra begins at the ooverasti's tail and simply eats. The ooverasti's probably struggling a bit, but there's not much movement going on. I'm not picking up any blood loss, so I don't think they're harming you."

"But it hurts," she repeated. "They must be…"

"Your body's reacting to their presence, trying to force them out, and that's what you're feeling. It's just the intense perilstalsis—the expansion and contraction of the ailmentary musculature."

"Like muscle cramps?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"But it hurts more than before."

"Does it? Well, you were already sore, and the lining of your intestines is irritated, so that makes sense."

Rose considered his explanation, but it did little to assuage her fears. After a few moments, she asked, "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" Her voice sounded tremulous.

He met her gaze and held it searchingly for several seconds. His mouth tightened into a frown, and his expression grew very serious. "All right, Rose. I think I'd better have a good look at you."

"'Kay," she whispered in assent. She'd known there was something the matter, and now he realized it, too.

She felt an odd sort of relief as he began examining her. He offered no jokes or puns or grins. He was very professional, his movements and expression clinical and detached. He took her wrist in his hand and pulled a watch from his coat, taking some time to count the pulse beats. After helping her to roll onto her back, he rested his hand over her chest, and she could tell that he was assessing her respiration rate. He leaned in and pressed his ear over her heart, listening for some time.

He gave her a brief, unemotional nod then seemed to check her temperature by holding the sonic screwdriver to her ear. She saw his eyebrow rise slightly, but he said nothing. His hand moved to her stomach, where he felt about carefully, but there was no pain until he reached the area below her navel. His touch was very light as he rested his palm over the spot where he'd indicated the ooverasti was. Still, she was quite sensitive, and she winced.

"Sorry," he mumured, pulling his hand away. He spent at least a full minute running the sonic screwdriver over her abdomen. He even had her roll onto her side again so that he could aim the instrument at her lower back.

Finally he pocketed the device then knelt by her side so that she could see his face. His expression remained somber, and her took her hand.

"Rose," he began gravely, "your pulse is eighty-five, respiration is fourteen, and temperature is thirty-six."

Eighty-five, fourteen, and thirty-six. Rose couldn't remember what was typical for pulse and respiration, but she knew that thirty-six was just fine for body temperature. Before she could ask for clarification, he continued.

"Which are all absolutely normal." His facial muscles relaxed, and he broke into a grin. "And everything else is fine, too. You're still a little dehydrated, of course, but we'll take care of that as soon as the bwoquerra passes. There're no signs of internal bleeding, and aside from the increase in peristalsis, which you have to expect in this situation, there's nothing atypical going on."

"So I'm really okay?" she asked.

"Yep. Really, really okay."

She thought for a few moments, then said, "I think the pain's a little better now."

He stroked her forehead gently. "I'm glad. Do you think you can sleep for a while? It'd be the best thing for you."

"Dunno," she replied wearily. "Still hurts some."

His fingers moved over her cheek then up to her temple, then back down again, over and over, and Rose found herself relaxing, and then suddenly she was asleep.

* * *

When she woke, she felt the pressure immediately.

"Oh God," she groaned.

The Doctor must've been sitting in the chair behind her, because she heard a slight creak, quick footsteps, and then he was bending over her. "Rose? You all right?"

"Bathroom," she muttered, "again."

To her surprise, he smiled. "Fantastic!"

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the little cottage, setting her down carefully beside the commode. He stepped outside, closing the door behind himself. With a morose sigh, Rose unfastened her jeans and sank down once again.

When she opened the bathroom door perhaps five minutes later, the Doctor hopped up from the chair and hurried toward her. She appreciated his arm around her waist; she felt terribly wobbly and weak. But there was no more cramping, and much of the soreness had gone away.

"Well?" he asked as he helped her to the bed.

"Well what?"

"How'd it go?"

She blinked up at him. "How'd it go? How d'you think?"

He simply arched an eyebrow then whipped out the sonic screwdriver as she lowered herself onto the mattress. He held it over her belly for a few moments then grinned.

"Problem solved!" he said cheerfully. "All unwanted, and wanted, guests have departed."

"Really? You sure?"

"Yep. How're you feeling?"

"Better," she admitted. "Most of the pain's gone."

"Perfect! Just as it should be. Now, we need to get some liquids into you, because you really are dehydrated—that's why you feel so tired, and it's not helping your muscles to recover any faster, either."

He settled her back into bed then brought her a glass of water. She was terribly thristy, but he only let her have a few sips. He promised her more later. He sat beside her for some time, chattering on about other strange insects he'd encountered in his travels. He seemed relaxed, but she could see a tiny hint of concern behind the casual front he'd put on.

After about half an hour, he gave her some more water, and she knew that he really had stopped worrying. He continued talking to her, but his tone was less frenetic, more meandering.

Rose slept well for the remainder of the night, and she awoke to the warm, bright sunshine washing over her. The Doctor brought her some juice and a bit of bread, and, once he'd assured her, twice, that the juice was not from the one forbidden fruit, she enjoyed the small meal.

"You still sore?" he asked her as she got out of bed, intending to take a nice, long bath.

"Just a little," she admitted. "One part of me got a lot more use than usual." She felt her cheeks grow hot; she hadn't intended to admit that to him.

He nodded sympathetically. "Those acidic secretions didn't help any, either. You know, the sonic screwdriver has a tissue regeneration function. I could—"

"No thank you!" she replied quickly.

He grinned rather impudently. "Had a feeling you'd say that." He reached into his pocket, and she was afraid that he'd insist on using the damned thing on her anyway. But he simply produced a small jar with a pleasantly-coloured, lavender liquid inside. "The chief's wife suggested you add this to your bath. Apparently she's quite good with herbal medicines and assures me this has lovely, soothing properties."

Rose accepted the jar gratefully.

"The chief sends his apologies," he added. "He's sorry that someone didn't check the food for you."

"Wasn't his fault," she replied. "I still swear you told me only the blue ones with the yellow an' green stripes."

"I really don't think so," he said with a shake of his head, "but if I did, I'm awfully sorry."

"So this might've been your fault?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well… I'm sure it wasn't, but just in case it was, I do have a plan for making it up to you."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "Better be a pretty good plan."

He grinned. "Oh, it is! It involves a gorgeous beach with fine, white sand, ocean breezes, and all the chips you can eat, because I think you've lost a little weight, and we can't have you wasting away."

"Hmm. Sounds all right," she conceded, trying not to smile.

"But of course we still need to wait a few more days 'til the TARDIS can travel again. That'll give you a chance to regain your strength."

For just an instant, she saw a flicker of regret cross his face.

"How serious was it, really?" she asked softly.

He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"Last night, when the pain was so bad… "

He took her hand in his, and his tone was very sincere as he said, "Rose, if you'd been in any real danger I've have got you back to the TARDIS immediately. I know you were uncomfortable, but there was never any question in my mind that you'd be all right."

"But you seemed really worried—you spent all that time checkin' me over."

A slightly sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Well, that was more for your benefit than mine."

"What're you gettin' at?"

He gave a small shrug. "I thought if I could give you objective information—tell you that all your vitals were normal, that I couldn't find anything wrong—then you'd know everything was all right, and you'd start to feel better. Because I think it was the stress of the situation more than anything that was causing your discomfort."

"So that was all unnecessary?"

"Well, I wouldn't really say that. It helped with your emotional health, and that's what you needed most just then."

Rose grinned at him. "You're a little bit sneaky, y'know that?"

"Sneaky?" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock affront then grinned. "Me? Well, thank you very much!"

She laughed, and it must have been infectious, because the Doctor chuckled too. Then he gave her hand an affectionate squeeze and turned toward the door.

"Have your bath, Rose, and when you're done you can come out and hear the children's song again."

"Yeah. Sorry about missin' the end of it before."

"I think they've forgiven you." He paused before opening the door. "Have you, um, forgiven me?"

"For givin' me the wrong information about the fruit? Yeah. For playin' doctor? Maybe."

"Playing? I was doing no such thing!"

Rose walked toward him and took his cheeks in her hands. She pulled his head down and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"What's that for?" he asked with surprise.

"For takin' such good care of me. But I hope you never have to do it again."

"Me too, Rose."

He kissed the top of her head then stepped out the door. Rose smiled and brushed a fingertip over her lips. Her Doctor was the best medicine of all.


End file.
